The Coming of Spring
by AvonleaGirl
Summary: After six years apart, Anne and Gilbert both find themselves starting anew in the seaside town of Glen St. Mary, trying to overcome the past and forge into the future. The last thing either of them expects – or hopes for – is to run into each other. But fate cannot seem to keep them apart. Soon enough, their lives begin to intertwine – slowly, yet inevitably – once again.
1. Chapter 1

It was the rhythmic rocking of the train that finally lulled her to sleep. After innumerable nights of insomnia – of tears and heartache and resign – her mind had finally granted her some respite. Her head rested gently against the cool glass window, cushioned by her voluminous, curly hair.

She would have remained asleep if not for the abrupt jolt of the wagon and the conductor's announcement of her stop. Almost like a ghost, she drifted off the train, clutching a trunk in one hand and small carpet bag in the other. She looked around the station passively, finding it to be empty and lifeless. She was the only passenger destined for this small Island village – the rest were almost certainly traveling on to Charlottetown.

With an effortful sigh, she settled uncomfortably against a firm, wooden bench outside the station building. A shiver echoed through her as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her fragile frame. As the train disappeared into the horizon, she almost allowed herself to enjoy this impromptu moment of tranquility. The air smelled of sweet wood and stale smoke. The crickets chirped in unison, their sound amplified by the stillness of the night. The piercingly bright stars glistened against the inky darkness of the new-moon sky. These were the things from which she once derived energy and inspiration, the things that once gave her life. Now, she scarcely acknowledged their presence.

As she waited at the platform, some of Diana's parting words from earlier that evening echoed in her mind. _Darling, the change of scenery will be good for you … Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Jim will care for you as one of their own … Nothing makes you happier than teaching … You know you always have a home here should you wish to return to Avonlea…_

Her thoughts trailed as the trot-trot of horse hooves grew and grew, until a shadow of a buggy appeared before her. In it sat Diana's uncle, Jim Barry, a member of the local school board and owner of the teacher's cottage where the red-headed woman was to stay. He greeted her kindly, helped her into the buggy, and inquired politely about her travels. For the remainder of the journey, they continued to make small talk about various things – the pleasantness of the August weather, the record number of children enrolled for the upcoming school year, the quality of the late summer harvest – until they reached the small red cottage which she would now call home. He assisted her in bringing her luggage to the parlor and handed her the cottage key. She smiled in a manner that was both grateful and solemn as she thanked him for his kindness and hospitality. With a tip of his cap, he bid her a good night and returned to his buggy to continue down the road toward his farm.

After the man left, the woman sighed and leaned back against the door, a wave of realization washing over her. This was her home now. Not Green Gables, not Patty's Place, but rather Teacher's Cottage – uninspiringly named, yet quaint nonetheless.

She had moved the majority of her belongings into the cottage a few weeks prior, while in town settling her contract for the teaching position. Then, it all still felt distant, intangible, hazy. Now, reality struck with a vengeance. It was so official, so final, so irreversible. And that scared her.

Carpet bag in hand, the woman slowly made her way upstairs and through the door on the right, where she found her tidy, comfortable room waiting for her. She changed into her nightgown, ever so exhausted from the grief that had consumed her for the past few months. She paused momentarily at the sight of a letter resting on her nightstand. She unfolded it as she settled her tired body into bed.

 _My dear,_

 _I trust that this little note finds you well. Diana made me promise to watch over you during your time here in the Glen, and thus I have set out to do just that. I hope the cottage is everything you want it to be, and that you are ever so at home here. I shall be over tomorrow to check on you and ensure that you are settling in comfortably. Should you need anything at all before then, I am but a mere eastward stroll down the road._

 _Kindly yours,_

 _Elizabeth Barry_

The note warmed the woman's heart ever so slightly, but she could not find it in herself to smile. Without much thought, she folded the note, blew out her bedside candle, and let her eyelids lower once again, this time submitting to her exhaustion with little protest.

—-

A man sat pensively in his study, a pen resting gently between his index and middle fingers. No matter how many hours he put into his work, the thick stack of papers on his desk never seemed to shrink in size. He had innumerable cases to review, bills to send, prescriptions to fill, and journals to read.

It was that time of night where, on rare occasion, he would enter a dream-like state and find himself thinking of her. All these years later, she was a mere shadow in his mind, a blurry outline only identifiable by her unmistakeable hair. Sometimes he saw her sitting against the dunes of the shore, writing fervently in her journal, her pen propelled by the seaside breeze. Other times, he saw her skipping through the rolling farmland, braids bouncing against her shoulders, without a care in the world. In these rare moments, he allowed his imagination to run free, to give him a tantalizing taste of something he would never know again.

A delicate knock on his study door quickly drew him back to reality.

"Doctor?" Nancy peaked softly into the room. "Why are you still awake at this hour?"

"I was just finishing up the rest of my paperwork, Nancy. It's been one of those weeks. Everyone in the Glen is sick, it seems."

"Best get yourself to bed, else you'll work yourself into the grave," his housekeeper warned kindly.

The man smiled, yet his eyes looked weighted and sad. "How is Emmy?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid."

He sighed heavily, pushing himself up from his chair and capping his fountain pen. "Thank you for looking after her, Nancy." He paused for a moment. "And for looking after me."

The older woman smiled, a slight rosy color rising to her cheeks. "There's nothing else I'd rather do, doctor dear. I'm just happy to be needed."And with that, the young doctor was once again alone, absently staring out of his study window, sinking deeply into his thoughts, consumed by his imaginings of what could have been.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My apologies for the unreasonable length of time it took me to post Chapter 2. I knew I wanted to return to this story eventually, but I had to wait until the time was right. Life has been hectic, but I'm trying to make more time to do things I enjoy (such as writing). I will be doing my best to post updates approximately every Sunday. And as always, thank you to my lovely readers and reviewers. I do hope you enjoy.**

 **Best,**

 **AvonleaGirl**

The next morning, Anne woke up naturally to slivers of morning sunlight creeping through the curtains in the eastward bedroom of Teacher's Cottage. Usually, this brightness — the beckoning of a new day — radiated through her, propelled her out of bed. Now, it only seemed to exhaust her. After lying awake for many minutes, her mind devoid of any substantive thought, she mustered the energy to sit up, to swing her feet over the side of her bed and lower them to the ground.

Tired she may be, but there were things to do — groceries to buy, boxes to unpack, a schoolhouse to set up. Perhaps this was a blessing: she could preoccupy herself, stay busy enough to distract from her sorrows, bury them deeper, as she had been trying to do for so long. She had schoolchildren to think about now, to instill in them a love of learning and unquenchable curiosity. Something meaningful to focus on outside herself. In a mere two weeks, she would be in the classroom again, teaching her youngest pupils how to read, helping older students discover their purpose and passions. In a way, she envied these future students of hers, their naïvety and youth, their fervent anticipation of things to come. Oh, to be young again, to see the world through a lens of invincibility and boundless possibility. If only they knew of the inescapable disappointments they would face, perhaps they would appreciate it more, the beauty and fleetingness of youth.

Anne continued to ponder these things as she put on her lightest, most breathable black dress — the mid-morning air already felt warm and sticky — and gathered her hair into a loose bun. The humidity of late summer did not cooperate with her hair; strands seemed to curl and stray in every direction, defying the laws of physics in a sort of chaotic mess. Her hair, its deep red hue and its unruliness, had profoundly troubled her in her early pubescent years. Now she would do anything to go back to that time, to a world where her most prominent concern had to do with her copper-colored curls.

Anne finished her morning routine, decided to head to the store and buy some produce for her new kitchen. She knew vaguely where O'Malley's General Store was, down the hill, east of her, in tucked in town somewhere. She could ask Mrs. Barry for directions, but Anne did not feel like making a social call, nor did she like to ask for help when her own instincts were sure to prove perfectly capable. Anne had changed in many ways since her college days, many more ways than she recognized, yet her independence and stubbornness were impenetrable.

Walking down the uneven stone path form her cottage to the road, Anne took a slow pace as to absorb her surroundings. Towering pine trees lined either side of the road to which Teacher's Cottage belonged, their size and spacing in near perfect uniformity, like soldiers standing at attention. Something about this neatness and unnatural consistency vaguely bothered Anne. A slight fog masked the air, interwove between the trees; it grew in thickness as she neared the sea. Anne soon reached the road which she assumed led to the main street through town; red and rocky, it gradually wound down a small cliff.

In several minutes she reached the general store, a modest wooden building painted the crispest of whites. Tentatively she entered, a bell chiming to announce her presence. The store was empty, save for an older bearded gentleman buying tobacco for his pipe. Anne made her way around O'Malley's leisurely, familiarized herself with the selection of products, picked up some necessities for her new kitchen — oatmeal, milk, flour, butter, eggs.

The young boy at the counter smiled as Anne approached to pay for her goods. "Hello," he said cordially, moving to bag her produce.

"Good morning," Anne replied. Her tone sounded almost apathetic, which she quickly regretted. "What's your name?" she asked the boy, forcing some cheerfulness.

"I'm William. William O'Malley. But you can just call me Will," he said.

"It's nice to meet you, Will," Anne replied softly.

"You must be Miss Shirley," the lad ventured, showing a sly, toothy grin as he handed her the bag full of groceries.

Anne smiled in a manner both kind and resigned. "I am, yes." She cleared her throat, awkwardly shifting the bulky brown paper bag in her arms, retrieving some money from her pocketbook. She paused. "How did you know?"

"Oh…" The boy's smile receded slightly. "I, uh…well, Mr. Barry came in here yesterday and mentioned that he was picking the new schoolteacher…you…up from the train station, and that I would immediately recognize you because of your hair."

"He did, did he." It was a retort, not a question.

The bell at the front door chimed then. Anne turned, watched as a woman and a young girl entered the store. The woman, older and plump, had a round, inviting face, an aura of non-judgment and serenity. The girl, not more than five, appeared somber, her expression suggesting that she had seen and felt things that no child should ever see and feel. Anne's heart twinged; she felt a sudden connection to this girl, an almost maternal desire to protect her, to wrap her in a warm embrace.

Despite Anne's diverted attention, Will continued to talk. "Yes ma'am. He told me that back where you're from, people say your hair's as red as carrots."

Once Anne processed these words, her entire body froze. Her heart skipped a beat, blood rose to her cheeks. After gaining a semblance of composure, she spun around to face the counter again, her eyebrows arched. "I beg your pardon?"

The boy's face froze in fear. "I didn't mean t-to offend you, Miss Shirley…" He stumbled over his words. "I am truly sorry if I…"

"You didn't offend me, dear." Anne's voice was gentle, but her face was expressionless, preoccupied, distant. For a fraction of a second, her mind drifted away, returning to a different time and a place. Her first day of school. Nearly seventeen years ago. _Carrots._

Just as quickly as the memory sprung alive, Anne smothered it to silence. Bidding the counter boy good-day, she turned toward the door, trying to think of something — anything — besides Gilbert Blythe.

To clear her mind, Anne decided to take a slightly longer route home, a detour through the rest of the town, to acquaint herself with her new surroundings. She walked down the wide main road, read the names of the stores and businesses. Bell's Bakery, Glen St. Mary Post Office, The Women's Society Club, Smith's Hardware… While not large by any stretch of the imagination, the seaside town still was sizable in comparison to Avonlea.

A certain sign then caught her eye: "Office of Dr. David Blythe." Anne breathed a deep sigh of relief. So Gilbert's uncle still ran the practice in Glen St. Mary. She laughed at herself momentarily, at the fact that she had even entertained the notion that Gilbert Blythe — now indubitably a cosmopolitan, dignified man — would work at his uncle's unassuming rural practice. Of course Gilbert would not be here, in a small Island town, when he could be in the city, with its bustling pace and dizzying glamour. Gilbert had lofty aspirations, plans to change the world. He wanted to make a name for himself, to save lives in the most valiant and heroic of ways. If anyone could do these things, it was him.

Anne had wanted a different life, too. A life far from this Island in both space and essence. But now — oh, Anne had no idea what she wanted now. At first this lack of wanting had unsettled her in its hollowness and unfamiliarity. But now she knew it to be a permanent part of her, something not to fight but to accept.

It was funny, how she never really thought of Gilbert anymore. Aside from this very moment, she spent no time wondering how he was doing, where he was living, who was by his side. Occasionally she would think of him casually, impartially, in passing. But this remembering of him always felt detached, separate from herself, like she had never really known him.

Anne's thoughts returned to the girl in the store then. The beautiful little girl with her raven black hair, her brown almond eyes. Anne wanted to know the source of her pain. She wanted to comfort her, reassure her. Because she had once been that girl, so small and uncertain, forever altered by the knowing of certain things far too soon. Perhaps the girl would be one of her students; this idea made Anne anticipate ever so slightly her return to the classroom. Maybe she could still make a difference, if not in her own life, then in the life of someone else.

Anne suddenly became aware of the tiredness of her arms under the heavy weight of the bag. Returning back to the cottage, she thought now of nothing but how exhausted she felt. She needed to unpack her belongings, formulate a plan for the upcoming school year, but she hadn't the energy. Instead she sat down at the kitchen table with a novel, retreated to the comfort of fiction, pushed the realities of the world far away.

After the sun set, Anne crawled into bed, let the thoughts pass through her mind as they always did in the retrospection of the night. She absentmindedly reached her hand toward her bedside table, picked up the note left by Mrs. Barry, ran her pale thumb softly over the ink, admiring the way the letters flowed so beautifully and effortlessly together, as if sculpted. _I hope that the cottage is everything you want it to be, and that you are ever so at home here._

Home.

In truth, Anne's sense of home was distorted. Home surely was not the States, where she had spent a few of her years following Redmond graduation. Nor was it Avonlea, which now signified to her a sort of pervasive loneliness, a skeleton of happiness.

Might this be a place where she could plant the seeds of home? Where she could find a purpose, a sense of belonging and contentment and acceptance? She closed her eyes, felt a shadow of warmth radiate through her as she imagined letting the past go. Honoring the past, embracing the past, but nonetheless, letting it go. She tried to hold onto this hope for as long as she could, this hope for a new beginning, but like a handful of sand, the tighter she gripped, the faster it slipped through her fingers.


	3. Chapter 3

After a long day at the clinic, Gilbert ventured across the road to the Glen St. Mary Post Office, his pace fast and anticipatory.

"Hello, Dr. Blythe! You are just in time!" Mabel Hughes greeted as Gilbert walked through the door. Her voice was animated yet unintelligible, her mouth stuffed with a pastry. She brushed crumbs off her dress and fixed her posture, as to not appear unkempt in the presence of the town's doctor. "I was just going to close the shop for the evening –- if you had been anyone else, I'd have told you to come back tomorrow, but I know you must be quite busy over there in your office, with all these sicknesses going around, and the seasons getting ready to change — you can almost feel the chill of autumn in the air already — my goodness, where has the summer gone…" Her voice trailed, her cheeks grew red as she realized her rambling. "Oh, anyway. What may I assist you with this fine evening, Doctor?"

Gilbert found Mabel's verbosity to be slightly enervating, but he smiled politely nonetheless. "Well, I was wondering if any packages have come for me in the past few days. I've been expecting a shipment from New York."

"New York, eh? Must be something fancy," Mabel teased, turning toward the shelf behind her. "Let's see if I have anything here." A few moments passed as she shuffled and sorted through a pile of parcels. "Ah, yes. Here we have it. A big old package addressed to one Dr. Gilbert Blythe." She lifted the package with an exaggerated effort, set it on the counter. "Goodness, Doctor, what ever did you order?"

"A few new medical publications, Mabel. I am doing my best to keep up with the literature. My colleagues back in Montreal always seem to have new recommendations for me."

"I hope one of them books tells you how to fix an old lady's back after lifting a parcel so heavy! My goodness!"

Gilbert took the package from her and laughed gently, flashed his handsome grin that all of the townspeople had grown to know and love. "Well, I am always across the way should you need something, Mabel," he offered as he stepped back toward the door. "Thank you for your help. Please give Thomas my best."

"I will, Doctor Blythe. You have a good evening now!" Mabel called. She watched the young doctor make his way outside, a smile lingering on her plump, simple face as she took another generous bite of her croissant.

* * *

Gilbert always looked forward to the ten minute walk home from work each evening, its steadfast quietness and solitude. These ten minutes were almost sacred to him — a time when no one needed him, when he was undisturbed. As he walked up the rocky, vague path to the side entrance of his yellow farm house, he paused on the steps for just a moment, taking in the sweet smell of late August. This ebbing of summer always kindled a deeper sense of nostalgia within Gilbert, not for his past, but rather for his unrealized dreams, the diminishing likelihood of them as time flowed on. But Gilbert was not one to fixate on things out of his control — besides, he had Emmy to think about — and so he took a deep breath as to clear these worries from his mind, then gently opened the door, placed his bag and package in the study. Walking into the kitchen, he saw Emmy and Nancy seated at the table, quietly eating supper.

"Hello, Doctor," Nancy greeted, standing up from her chair, its worn wood creaking under her shifting weight. "I do apologize; we've nearly finished eating already. Emmy was rather hungry, and when the clock passed six, I assumed you were being held up at the clinic." She began preparing a plate for the doctor, overflowing with mackerel, potatoes, and green beans.

"You needn't be sorry, Nancy," Gilbert said kindly. "I regret that my schedule is so unpredictable." He walked over to Emmy then, planting a kiss on the top of her small head. "And how is my little ladybug?"

"I'm okay."

Nancy paused for a moment, serving spoon in hand, watched sentimentally as the two interacted.

"Did you do anything fun today?" Gilbert asked, settling into his chair.

"We went to pick out my dresses for school," Emmy said, her eyes lighting up then. "I picked out a blue one for my first day."

"I've started sewing it already," Nancy beamed as she set down Gilbert's plate, reseated herself at the table. "She will look absolutely darling, Doctor. The material is checkered — sky blue and white. And the sleeves have the smallest of frills and puffs."

"That sounds lovely." Gilbert smiled. "Are you excited to begin school, Em?"

Emmy shrugged sadly, lethargically. "I don't know."

"Think of all the other children you will get to meet, the new friends you will have. And all that you will get to learn — how to read big books and spell long words and do arithmetic. Isn't that exciting?"

Emmy nodded, then grew silent, looked down at her food. "But I will miss you," she whispered, her face crestfallen.

"I'll miss you, too. But I'll always be close by," Gilbert assured her. "I'll be in my office, or visiting patients, the same as always. And if something happens, Nancy or I will come to get you."

Emmy pushed the food around her plate, kept her gaze downward. "I just don't want things to change."

Gilbert did his best to conceal the worry in his eyes. "I know." He sighed, leaned back in his chair. "But it's not going to change that much. I will still see you every day, just like how it is now."

A lone tear rolled down Emmy's face then, dangled off the tip of her nose, fell onto her plate. "But I'm scared."

"Oh, sweetheart." Gilbert picked Emmy up, held her tightly in his lap. "What makes you scared?"

Her chin quivered. "That you are leaving me."

"Emmy." Gilbert took her small, fragile hands into his, squeezed them reassuringly. "I will never, ever leave you. I will always be here."

She nodded halfheartedly, wanting to believe this, trying to believe this. "Do you promise?"

"I promise." He gently stroked her hair, rocked her back and forth in his arms. "You know, perhaps tomorrow you and Nancy can walk to the schoolhouse, see what it looks like. You might be able to meet your teacher, too. How does that sound?"

Emmy nodded again, wiped another tear from her face. "Okay." A long silence followed, a comfortable, secure silence, interspersed with the ticking of the clock, the soft chirps of crickets outside. Emmy felt safe in this embrace, protected from all of her fears. "I love you, Daddy."

Gilbert's heart melted at these words. He hugged her snuggly against his chest, taking a shaky breath, holding back tears of his own. "I love you too."

* * *

Two hours later, after Emmy had fallen asleep, Gilbert sat at his study desk, leafing through the most grandiose of the new books he'd received: _The Principles and Practice of Medicine_ , by Sir William Osler, a fellow alumnus of McGill University. Over one thousand pages long, this volume was now the most extensive medical textbook Gilbert owned. It thrilled him, that so much new, pioneering medical information sat within his hands.

Skimming through the book brought Gilbert back to his time in Montreal, to all of the advantages that came with city practice — the research, the case collaboration, even the competition. He occasionally questioned his decision to retreat to the countryside, where medicine often felt decades behind. Perhaps he had made a mistake, returning to the Island, taking over his uncle's practice, when he craved so much _more_ in this world. But he was here in Glen St. Mary for a reason, he had to believe that. There was much satisfaction to be had in helping those with the greatest need, those who would otherwise have no access to care. And Gilbert enjoyed the personal relationships he'd built with his patients, the sense of community in rural practice. He was needed here. Needed by his patients, and most of all, needed by Emmy. That had to be enough.

He closed the book then, as to stop this debate in his head. He walked into the kitchen to find Nancy at the table, reading her novel, steeping a cup of tea.

"I thought you'd gone to bed, Doctor," Nancy said.

"I was just looking through the new medical books that I received today." He sighed. "And it's rather hard to sleep when I am worrying so much about her."

"I know." Nancy's eyes held a genuine empathy. "But she's doing better with each day. She ate almost all of her supper tonight; that's certainly a good sign."

Gilbert nodded, somewhat unconvinced. "I suppose I am anxious about how she will fare in school. Adjusting to a new environment is difficult for any child, let alone one who has been through so much. Not to mention that I haven't a clue about who the new schoolteacher will be. I know that the board recently decided on a candidate, though I haven't heard much talk otherwise."

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm rather unsure as well." Nancy set her book face-down as to mark her page, looked upward and to the right, as she always did when trying to remember the details of something. "I've heard a few rumors, all contradictory — she is a farm girl, she is a city girl; she is from the island, she is a newcomer; she is a widow, she has never been married. To be completely frank, I haven't a clue what to expect. I do know that Elizabeth Barry thinks quite highly of her, and I suppose that means something."

"Indeed it does," Gilbert agreed. Elizabeth Barry was known for being rather critical and pessimistic; Gilbert could hardly believe that anyone would receive a positive endorsement from her. "I can only hope that this teacher is someone who will nurture Emmy, sympathize with her, not be too strict with her. She needs love, support, encouragement. She needs someone who will understand."

"I'm not sure most of us will ever understand what she's been through, Doctor." Nancy sighed then, a wave of sorrow washing over her face. Ever so often, she found herself picturing the details of what Emmy had endured; this occurrence always left her shuddering. "But we can still help her and love her just the same. And you are doing a wonderful job of that."

"Thank you, Nancy." Gilbert said, though he felt undeserving of any praise.

"Now why don't you go get some rest, Doctor dear. Things always look better in the morning."

Gilbert nodded gratefully as he turned toward the steps. "Goodnight, Nancy."

* * *

For over an hour Gilbert lied awake in his bed, his mind preoccupied, distraught. He worried about most everything lately: Was he doing enough for his patients? Was he living up to the Blythe family name? Was he raising Emmy the right way?

After a while, these thoughts slowed, then stopped altogether, creating a vacuum in his mind, a profound void. In the absence of thoughts, Gilbert became aware of the silence of his room, the coldness encroaching on him. This desolate feeling grew with each night that passed, each night he spent in solitude, until it consumed him, submerged him in a shallow sleep.


End file.
